To Forgive,To Love,To Cherish
by Arasulgil
Summary: A cold Christmas Eve. A mother and son, grown older and wiser,realize;and in it,forgive old hurts and make new memories.
1. Changes

_Author's Note:_

 _Prompts: "Outside the cabin…", Champagne, Fireworks_

 _Beauxbatons Year 5_

 _Theme=Christmas_

 _Word Count=1 047_

* * *

Outside the cabin, the wind howled through the trees, while inside, the old woman's fire was nearly out.

She sighed. Had she ever, _ever_ expected this to happen?

Vernon's death, she tried to reason, would have happened anyway. It was the way of nature.

But Dudley had gone off with his friends; just when she needed a man to help. A new business, a new country. "I do miss you, Mum," he'd said, the last time he'd called. "Things are very busy here. I promise I'll visit you this year." Hearing his mother's soft sobbing, he swore on his life.

Yet it was the 25th of December, and he had not so much as called.

She remembered, as vividly as if it had taken place a few minutes ago, Christmas ten years ago. Dudley had finally come of drinking age, so they'd visited Old Favourites, Vernon's usual bar, to have a family round of champagne. They'd then driven back home, singing along to the carols on the radio; finally, lighting fireworks that illuminated the world.

But that had happened a decade (was it _really_ so long) ago? Yes, it was, she scolded herself. A whole ten years: now Vernon was dead, they'd lost the business, had to move into a tiny cabin on the outskirts of the city, Dudley was working and earning in the north of Britain.

She remembered _him,_ too; her nephew, with all his abnormalities and shortcomings. However, at the moment, she would have been glad to see him.

The Dumbledore man had been right. It hurt to admit it, but now she realized: Dudley had taken after his father.

Would he ever visit her before she died?

Was she missing him so much that she could hear him? Her little boy's voice, now rough and deep with years?

It was probably a passer-by, she thought.

As she got up to go and ask whoever it was to make less noise, considering that it was late evening, she heard a knock at her rough wooden door.


	2. but good ones

Petunia got up with a start, wincing as her aged knees protested; her mouth fell open as she caught sight of the guest.

It was her Dudley. Taller, thinner, older, but still him.

She gasped, shocked; and some part of her overjoyed. _How did he get here?_

She reached out for an embrace, but he got there first, hugging her like he hadn't since he was ten years old, (when did her little boy grow taller than her?) bending down to bury his head in her neck, the way he did when he'd come second instead of first in the Under-17 Boxing Championship. In her emotion, she could not contain her tears, or her smile.

"You made it, Duddykins," she whispered tearfully. "Thank you."

He gently released his grip, but with one arm still around her, he led her to the fireplace. After seating her in the only intact chair, he fed the fire, kindling its young flame into a strong blaze.

He then crossed the room and seated himself on the floor opposite her.

 _How time has changed us,_ she reminisced. Fifteen years ago, she would have let Dudley sit on the comfortable chair while she stood.

Of course, she didn't blame him for his rather selfish earlier attitude. She knew she had casually denied it a few decades ago, but ten years alone with nothing to do but sit and think had made her realize some things: mainly, that the parents of an individual were responsible for his personality and attitude. So, even though it hurt, she realized, living with the guilt that, if she-no, they-had raised him differently, everything might have been better and more satisfying.

"I'm sorry, Mum," was the first thing he said.

"For what, darling?" She had to forgive him, whatever it was; after all, it was mostly her fault.

'For everything." He got up and started pacing. "For not visiting you for so long, for not being able to be with you when you needed me the most, and other things: the way I used to behave; the burdens I put on you and Dad; everything else I did. I'm really sorry, Mum, and I know how much you did for me: I swear, no other parents would be able to do what you've done.

I feel terrible for asking you this, but I need one more thing: for you to forgive me, Mum. I understand if you can't: maybe you need some time; maybe **we** need some time. If that's it, I'll accept it wholeheartedly, no questions asked."

She desperately tried to remember how to speak, knowing her face was probably as pale as the snow on her doorstep.

"How did you find out?" She didn't mean to be rude, but she _had to know._ There was absolutely no way he could have realized this overnight, or on his own; there had to be a driving force.

"The saying's true," he said quietly, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "You don't know the value of something till it's not there."

She felt the lump in her throat getting bigger. "Oh, Dudders…."

"That's not all," he continued softly. "Time….and experience….they taught me things, Mum. My friends helped me, but in the end, I understood."

She nodded, her eyes shining, and rose, grasping his shoulders comfortingly. "Of course I forgive you."

He pulled out two bottles from a bag she hadn't noticed till then, handing one to her.

He uncapped his. "A toast," he said, "to you, Mum."

"To family," she said, _clinking_ her bottle on his, then letting warm, familiar,spicy champagne make its way into her body, bringing back strength, comfort and mellow memories.

Finally, they let off fireworks, as per their Dursley Christmas tradition. However, these were not normal fireworks. Dudley said he'd got them from some of his friends, but these were much, much better than regular fireworks. When lighted, they rose above their heads before erupting in a shower of red, gold and green sparks that fell down around them, enclosing them in a chamber of light.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," said Dudley, his head on his mother's shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, my dear little boy."


End file.
